


Christmas Abductions (Tea with Mycroft)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hamish enjoys annoying Mycroft, M/M, mycroft is mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One December afternoon, Mycroft's car is waiting at the school gates for Hamish- but will Hamish actually give Mycroft the information he wants, or will Mycroft be beaten by a nine year old?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Abductions (Tea with Mycroft)

Hamish Watson-Holmes was not happy. Mycroft’s car (Hamish refused to call him ‘Uncle’) had been the one to pick him up (abduct him) from the school gates, and as usual, his assistant/secretary/replacement Anthea had informed him that he had wanted to talk. Whenever Mycroft’s car appeared Hamish had learnt to expect another dreaded conversation. He hadn’t minded his Uncle- and had enjoyed their conversations- until it became about the information and Mycroft stopped pretending to care about what Hamish thought. After all, he was only a child, as Mycroft has so aptly put when he thought Hamish couldn’t hear him, and so anything he said (with a few exceptions) didn’t matter. The premise of the meetings was always the same: Mycroft needed extra information about his parents. The only question was what he was going to try and bribe Hamish with this time.

The last time (he had actually accepted the bribe), he had been five and it had been the offer of sweets in exchange for planting cameras inside his father’s bookcase (Hamish had accepted the sweets and done as he was told, informing his parents of the deal immediately afterwards). John and Sherlock hadn’t minded (it gave Sherlock something to hassle his older brother about), but he knew now that it wasn’t a good thing to side with Mycroft Holmes. He had grown up since then (he had decorated 221B with excessive amounts of paper chains in a sugar fuelled, Christmas themed apology) and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. His parents trusted him and he wasn’t going to betray that trust- besides, he was allowed to decorate the flat every Christmas since then, even without the excuse of an apology. A lot had changed in the past four years and it might’ve been December, but that didn’t mean he had to make things easy for his uncle.

‘Persephone’ – the names were definitely getting worse- refused to even glance at him as she recited the usual speech, informing that ‘it’s going to be a long journey, make yourself comfortable’ at the end of it. That was new. They must’ve relocated- and _Persephone_ was not pleased about the change. Texting frantically- not Mycroft, he prefers to call- so either her friends or her boyfriend- fiancé (shiny new ring). Both. The new base was too far away from her fiancé and her friends. God, he was bored already. Hamish sighed, crossing his legs on the cold leather seats. 4:00PM. Sugar, Dad will be worried, he was supposed to be home half an hour ago (it’s been six months since the last abduction/meeting and he wasn’t expecting it). He pulled out his phone and his homework (tedious- why couldn’t Year 5s learn anything interesting- even algebra would be better that this) and composed a short text.

_Going to see Mycroft. Might be a while. Stop worrying.- HWH x_

Moments later he received a reply (and an extra text from his father).

_Good luck. Don’t irritate him too much- JW_

_Ignore your dad. Irritate him as much as possible –SH_

Hamish smirked, tucking his phone back inside his pocket. He could imagine his parents conversation moments before sending those texts. John had no doubt known that Sherlock would encourage him to annoy Mycroft and so had added the ended of his text as an afterthought. Sherlock had tried to counter this by sending his own text. He needn’t have worried- annoying Mycroft was always entertaining.

His phone beeped again.

_Mention the diet- SH._

_If he offers a new chemistry set, accept it. Ours is broken. –SH_

No doubt he had literally just blown up the last test tube. Hamish didn’t mind, it gave his Dad almost no grounds to insist that he give the set back if they didn’t have one at all.

Hamish dashed off his homework in under ten minutes (9 minutes 37 seconds, thank you very much), humming the tune to ‘Jingle Bells’ under his breath. When he looked up, and saw Persephone –what a stupid name- glaring at him, it gave him another idea about how to pass the time. A game he liked to call: which Christmas song annoys Persephone the most?

**

The car finally stopped half an hour later, and Hamish had exhausted his repertoire. It turned out that ‘I wish it could be Christmas everyday’ frustrated Persephone the most (she had actually stopped texting and _growled_ at him). Hamish grinned cheerfully at her as he jumped out of the car- he knew there was a reason he liked Christmas music- that was another thing to add to the list of ‘what to do when Mycroft abducts you’.

They had arrived at an abandoned warehouse. How creative, Hamish sighed, looking around at the grey walls and the stone floors. Would it kill Mycroft to be more creative with his choice of lair? Probably, Hamish decided, seeing his uncle pouring tea into two china cups. The contrast between the gold chairs and the desolate backdrop of the warehouse was comical rather than scary, and Hamish wondered if this was how his Dad had first met his uncle, and if John had pointed this out to him.

‘Ahh, Hamish. Do take a seat. Biscuit?’ Mycroft asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. Hamish reluctantly sat down, remembering to slouch (one of the things his father told him that Mycroft hated). He chewed the biscuit with his mouth open and slurped the tea, as Mycroft looked on, his lip curling in disapproval. So far, so good. ‘I see your manners haven’t improved since I last saw you.’

‘My manners are fine,’ Hamish told him. Damn, he hadn’t got any chewing gum (a vital part of his act).

‘I’m sure they are,’ Mycroft replied calmly, taking in the (newly) scuffed shoes and the (recent) mud stain down the side of his polo shirt. Nothing worse than an untidy child.

‘So, why am I here, Mycroft-‘

‘Uncle Mycroft.’

‘Whatever. Why am I here, dearest uncle of mine?’

‘Do I need an excuse to see my nephew?’

‘Yes. Am I here to discuss your new diet?’ Two minutes in and he’d already mentioned the diet, father would be proud.

‘No. We are here, however, to discuss your parents.’ Mycroft’s voice was terser, his calm façade slipping slightly.

‘They’re fine. I’m fine. All the residents of Baker Street are relatively unharmed. We’re all fine.’ Hamish glared at his uncle, knowing what was coming next.

‘I would be prepared to offer you… A considerable sum of money to send me daily reports about my brother- and Doctor Watson’s- activities.’ Oh, this was too easy. His father was going to have fun with this one. All he had to do was accept and Mycroft would be receiving detailed accounts of Sherlock’s sock index.

‘I’m only nine, Mycroft. Do you honestly think I have time to write _reports_ for you? It would have to be worth my while.’

‘Of course, _Hamish_. It would be put in a bank account, which you could access when you turn twenty-one.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, I don’t want _money_. You have to let Father have access to any information _he_ wants for the next year.’ Hamish smirked, knowing that even altering Mycroft’s schemes slightly would infuriate him. He had been doing this too long for him to succumb so easily. He remembered Sherlock’s request and added: ‘And a chemistry set’ to the end of the demand. There, deal with that, Uncle dear. Mycroft rubbed his temples and seemed to think over the deal. When he spoke again, his voice was tense and almost agitated.

‘Fine. I will let your Father investigate all he wants for a year. Be warned that I will stop him if he goes too far, though. Expect the chemistry set tomorrow.’ Hamish nodded and extended his hand for Mycroft to shake, He might’ve been ‘only a child’, but he had learnt from the best.

‘Goodbye, Mycroft. Merry Christmas.’

‘And a Happy New Year.’ Responded Mycroft, draining the last of his tea as he watched his nephew leave.

Hamish thought that (deep down inside) Mycroft quite liked to be challenged by someone other than Sherlock. It certainly gave him something to do, Hamish concluded, and he would have something to analyse now, until almost Christmas.

**

Back at the flat, Sherlock was dictating to Hamish what he should write in the report, John struggling not to laugh in the background. There was a damaged cardboard box in the corner, which had originally carried Hamish and Sherlock’s new chemistry set, but was now not fit for anything anymore. The report’s entry for day one now read:

_Day one: SH had toast for breakfast. No jam. No lunch. Dinner (late): cod and chips. Spent all day baking Christmassy biscuits, has given up solving crimes and has decided to take up knitting. Has announced a sudden hatred for orange juice and red wine gums. Nothing else to report._

Merry Christmas, Mycroft.


End file.
